A Gnocchi Nocturne
by Ellique
Summary: Set some time in the future, Rachel is cooking dinner and waiting for Al to come home. One-shot - Rachel/Al. May contain minor spoilers from Pale Demon. Rated M for language.


**DISCLAIMER: THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF THE HOLLOWS AND ALL CHARACTERS THEREIN ARE OWNED BY THE LOVELY KIM HARRISON.**

~ A Gnocchi Nocturne ~

I'd been feeling tired for the past few weeks – something I had initially attributed to a spurt of particularly taxing runs Ivy, Jenx and I had been contracted for, including working the security detail for a werewolf convention that had breezed into town four days ago. Planning security for the convention was particularly stressful and none of us had slept much more than four or five hours a night for the past week or so. Still, the level of tiredness I felt was unprecedented. It was full out exhaustion. At times, simply walking in from the garden left me drained and winded and there were newly formed dark circles under my eyes that I kept hidden with the clever use of concealer. I would have used a complexion charm but there's no way I would have been able to keep that from him. At the moment, continuous infusions of caffeine and tactful use of makeup techniques left no one the wiser about how tired I truly felt. It was no secret how much I loved my coffee.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The sounds and smells of the late August afternoon filtered into the kitchen through the open window, mixing with the sweet smell of tomatoes stewing in my large stock pot. I had picked the tomatoes myself earlier in the afternoon, their orange-pink flesh warmed by the sun to the perfection of ripeness. I was feeling energetic enough to make them into my homemade spaghetti sauce, which he loved so much. But the sauce would be reserved for another evening. Tonight's dinner would be homemade gnocchi with a butter thyme sauce, topped with delicate shavings of Pecorino Romano. It was his favorite.

My eyes fell briefly to the kitchen island – the earth amulet perched on its countertop still glowing a verdant green, confirming my suspicions. He didn't know that I had stopped using the curse that would have guaranteed the amulet's red glow. I wondered, partially fearful, how he'd react.

That same unpredictability was what made our sex life so varied and abundant – a playful mix of love-making and fucking depending upon the day's desires. He had proved himself a skilled lover, capable of provoking in me depths of desire I never realized I had. A ribbon of desire rippled through me at the thought of our love-making, the flush of heat bringing an aching hardness to my nipples and an insistent tingling to that delicate spot between my legs.

He would be back home from work any minute now. He had always been a skilled and dedicated teacher and was now Chair of Ley Line Magical Studies at the university – a position that brought him both prestige and financial reward, in addition to a healthy stroke to the thick pelt of that furry and fickle beast, his ego. His transition to life in reality had gone more smoothly than I had worried it would. We had both settled into a life of contentment in reality and rarely, if ever, spoke of the ever-after – the alternate dimension having served as his prison for untold thousands of years before shrinking and merging into reality in a dramatic maelstrom he thankfully survived. One of our favorite ways to spend an evening together was laying arm in arm on the swing on the back porch, watching the magnificent sunset sink below the horizon in a wash of psychedelic color. The first time we spent an evening that way I pretended not to notice when a silent tear fell from his eyelash and he made no attempt to wipe it away.

And now here I stood, putting the finishing touches on dinner. He knew me well enough not to demand any chores of traditional domesticity. But I had always enjoyed cooking and I found I liked it even more when I was cooking for him.

Though we could both travel the ley lines and avoid the tedium of rush hour traffic, he had discovered a love of driving and almost always took his car to work. I quickly wiped my hands on my apron when I heard the distinctive rumble of his car's engine as he pulled into the driveway. My heart began racing, all expression draining from my face upon hearing the opening and closing of the door to the laundry room from the garage.

"Good evening, love," he called to me, his telltale British accent as crisp as the starched collar of the white dress shirt I ironed for him this morning.

"I'm in the kitchen," I replied.

A few heavy footsteps later and he was standing before me, ruggedly sexy with his tie loose, the cuffs of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his grey tweed trousers of expensive Italian wool hugging his hips seductively – his body tall and athletically muscular. He had long ago dispensed with the green velvet and the delicate features of an 18th century British lord. And I found his natural appearance so much sexier – a subtly stronger jawline, darker hair, ruddier skin the color of aged brick.

For better or worse, I was in love with him. This him. The him that was his true self. His personality, of course, had remained virtually unchanged. A bit softer at times, yes. But a part of me was still frightened of how he would react. Perhaps subconsciously that's why I decided on the gnocchi.

His eyes spotted the dish and he hummed with delight, stepping to the island for a pre-dinner sampling. His hand approached the potatoey entrée before I voiced my disapproval. Producing a suitable utensil, I scooped a few dumplings onto a spoon and raised it to his lips. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, savoring the delicate balance of flavors as they graced his discerning palate.

When he opened his eyes, they once again fell longingly to the dish holding the gnocchi and then skipped across the counter like a flat rock across a pond to the amulet, still pulsing with a bright green light.

His brow creased and his smile retreated. He picked up the amulet, examining it more closely from several angles before bringing his gaze to mine. His eyes flashed with an excitement that spread to his mouth, his lips upturning into a smile as the slipstream of emotion spread through his body.

"Rachel?" Al said, so many unspoken questions in his mere utterance of my name.

I nodded and took his hand in mine, pressing it to my lower abdomen where the first pinpoints of light and magic foretold the primordial beginnings of a new adventure on which we would embark together.

I left his hand there and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, enjoying the feel of the hair at the nape of his neck as my fingers combed his dark tresses.

"How was your day, dear?" 

**A/N: Instead of preparing for the hurricane last Friday, I found myself in an uncharacteristically romantic mood and had to get this story out of my head and onto the page. Reviews are lovely and appreciated. This vignette was in large part inspired by the song 'Mystery' by the Indigo Girls and sitting on my deck on a lazy August afternoon, the shadows of summer growing longer, the smell of the air changing, and perhaps a little over-romanticizing of my favorite demon, Al. ;) **


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